Meanwhile, David's feelings were conflicted.
He didn't know how to process the sudden arrival of an Asian man in his 20s. At first, he welcomed him, thinking he might be a benefactor. But then, the man offered $50 billion.
Naturally, David didn't take him at his word. The odds were far too high that this was a scam.
'But…'
What if he wasn't a con artist? David had heard vague rumors about numerous tycoons in Asia. A near-miraculous possibility, sure, but… David was desperate enough to hope for such a miracle.
So he scanned the man closely, searching for clues to support the possibility of a miracle.
'He's definitely not ordinary… Those eyes, his composed yet abrupt way of cutting to the chase, refusing small talk and sticking to business—it all pointed to someone used to wielding authority. Maybe… someone born into it?'
David let out a bitter laugh, shaking himself out of the dream.
'That's ridiculous.'
Now wasn't the time for dreams. He needed to assess this situation rationally. The man was likely a con artist targeting desperate patients. The scam would go like this: promise an enormous donation, offer a portion upfront to foster hope, and then launch into the real con.
That seemed the logical conclusion.
But still, something gnawed at David.
'For a con artist, he's oddly unconvincing…'
For one, his supposed Wall Street background was suspect.
After the financial crisis, Wall Street's reputation had been in tatters. Emphasizing a Wall Street connection would only deepen suspicions.
'Is it his appearance…?'
His look was almost unnaturally polished, with sharp, intelligent eyes. This was not someone who seemed to earn their wealth through honest labor. If anything, he looked like someone who might actually belong on Wall Street.
'He doesn't seem particularly skilled at scamming, though…'
For instance, when David mentioned his illness, the man didn't even bother with a polite expression of sympathy. He just nodded a few times and moved straight to the next question, as if to say, Let's cut to the chase.
'Does he lack tact?'
He accepted David's theories far too readily as well. Any seasoned con artist would have been more skeptical, mirroring the average person's reaction.
David's hypothesis wasn't exactly mainstream. He'd spent years advocating for it, but no one had ever taken him seriously. For someone to appear out of nowhere and believe it in mere seconds? That was suspicious.
And yet…
Something about it moved David.
The man was unlike anyone David had ever met before. He was someone who listened.
"Can I see the candidate list?"
Not content with just listening, he requested a list that no one else had dared to even look at.
"You've done this yourself, I see."
With a single stroke of his pen, he summarized David's years of struggle.
"If this method works… you'll need more than individuals. You'll need a group effort."
He recognized the necessity of a risky gamble.
"I'll cover all expenses."
He promised to shoulder the costs and walk this arduous path with David.
Aside from the patient communities David had engaged with, no one had ever responded like this before.
For someone like David, who had fought an uphill, lonely battle for years, the significance of such a response was immeasurable.
"So then…"
"There's a condition."
At the end of their lengthy conversation, the word condition surfaced—a word that rang alarm bells in David's mind.
'As expected, he's a con artist…'
David regained his composure and began to organize his thoughts. The logical thing to do at this point was to end the conversation. That much was clear.
But…
"What kind of condition… specifically?"
The inner surge of curiosity and impulse was impossible to suppress.
"It's nothing too grand. I simply want to have equal authority in deciding when to pull certain triggers," the man replied.
"In other words, I want shared decision-making power."
What he sought was influence. Specifically, the authority to decide on the administration of certain treatments.
David immediately shook his head.
"That's not possible. Since I'm the one directly undergoing the treatment, I can't give equal weight to someone else's opinion."
David had no choice but to administer the treatment himself—his life was on the line. Entrusting such critical decisions to another was unthinkable.
However, the man was resolute.
"And I can't provide funding to a project where my opinions are completely disregarded. Especially not when it involves such a substantial amount of money."
"What's your angle?"
Suddenly, David's fiancée, Jessie, stepped in.
"Do you think we're naïve enough to believe someone would just hand over $50 billion? Frankly, you look like a scammer."
Despite being directly called a con artist, the man's expression remained unflinching.
"We're desperate enough to attempt something this reckless because our lives are at stake. But what's your motivation?"
"You must not have heard from David. I lost someone precious to this illness."
"If that were the case, then every other patient's family would've donated their entire fortune to developing treatments. That's not how reality works." Jessie's tone turned sharper.
David lightly touched her shoulder to calm her before turning back to the man.
"Jessie has spent years raising donations. Even the families of patients usually only open their wallets if it's to save their own loved ones immediately. No one donates vast sums for a hope that's already gone."
He continued, "It's only natural we find it suspicious that you're willing to pour such an enormous sum into something for someone already gone. No matter how altruistic your intentions might appear—"
"You've misunderstood my intentions," the man interrupted firmly.
His tone carried an unexpected gravity.
"This isn't about altruism."
David blinked, caught off guard by the revelation.
"My sole interest is in solving the problem. Whether it's through good deeds or bad ones is irrelevant. As long as the results are achieved."
***
'Is it the Wall Street background? He's saying things straight out of a villain's playbook.'
"I want to solve this with money," the man continued.
It was a statement that hit the core of the issue. Russian roulette requires money—a lot of it.
But that didn't mean David was gullible enough to trust a strange Asian man who had suddenly appeared.
"Sorry, but it's hard to believe you."
"Yes, and I find you hard to believe as well."
"…?"
"It would be stranger if we trusted each other after meeting just today. Just as you suspect me, I find you suspicious too. I'm not ready to hand over any money just yet."
The man accepted mutual distrust as a given. Then he made an unexpected proposal.
"So, how about a trial period of six months?"
"A trial?"
"When buying a car, you take it for a test drive first. This is a matter of life and death—deciding without a test run doesn't make sense."
A six-month trial. At first glance, it seemed reasonable…
But this also meant that for six months, David would have to share decision-making power over the treatments he would receive.
It was absurd.
"I'm afraid I'll have to decline."
"Yes, you're free to do so."
"What?"
"We'll proceed with a veto system."
Despite David's firm refusal, the man remained unfazed.
"If you don't like my proposal, you can continue to veto it. That way, I have no obligation to provide funding. Likewise, if I find your suggestions unsatisfactory, I can refuse as well. Just because your life is on the line doesn't mean I'm obligated to fund your choices. How about we test our compatibility with this kind of equal veto system?"
David knew he should refuse. Continuing the conversation would only risk falling into the con artist's trap.
And yet…
Even as he thought this, his brain had already begun calculating the potential costs and benefits.
"Funding will only be provided if we agree on decisions. If we don't, no funds will be given."
If the funding didn't come through, it would be disappointing, but David had planned to proceed alone anyway. There was nothing to lose.
"First, tell me how much funding you'll need for the next six months."
The man glanced at his wristwatch, urging David to continue.
Despite lingering doubts… David decided to go along with the plan, at least for now.
'There's no need to be greedy for the full $50 billion.'
Even if this man was a con artist, he would need to provide some initial funding to get the scam rolling. Once David had that money in hand, he could sever ties.
If he was careful enough… perhaps he could secure the funds he immediately needed.
"The biggest obstacle is the academic community," David began, deciding to lay out the primary challenge.
"The academic world refuses to consider any hypothesis outside of IL-6. Even when I presented my clinical findings at a recent hematology conference…"
David had personally experimented with cyclosporin and immune globulin. The result was three seizure-free days, indicating that immune system hyperactivation was the cause.
It was a conclusion he had risked his life to uncover, yet not a single scholar took it seriously.
—You're inexperienced and must not realize this yet, but medicine always has its red herrings. Drawing conclusions from a single case is dangerous.
David's voice held no weight. After all, he wasn't a doctor, professor, or researcher in the field. He was merely a 29-year-old recent medical school graduate.
To the academic community, he was nothing more than a patient pretending to understand medicine after a few years of schooling.
He had thought that presenting scientific evidence would change their minds, but even that was dismissed as coincidence.
"They're all blindly trusting the existing answers. When I show them the data, they claim the tests are flawed…"
"So, there's no prior research suggesting an immune system disorder as the cause," the man summarized.
David fell silent. He had been trying to explain the absurdity and hopelessness of the situation, but the man cut him off as if he had no intention of sympathizing.
"If the academic community is like this, getting off-label prescriptions must be difficult as well."
With an unnervingly cold attitude, the man focused solely on the logistical challenges.
"Yes. It's unlikely there will be many doctors willing to help."
For the plan to work, the cooperation of a doctor was essential. Even off-label medications required a prescription.
However, the "Russian Roulette" approach went against the accepted academic consensus. Under such circumstances, no doctor would prescribe the necessary treatments.
"That's why basic research is urgent. We need evidence beyond IL-6. Unfortunately, no one in academiy supports my views. Professors won't even engage, so I tried convincing researchers, but…"
The researchers' responses were disheartening.
—You know this. Castleman disease can't be a priority for us. Time and resources are limited, so we have to invest in research that benefits more patients."
To them, Castleman disease was a rare condition with too few patients to warrant their attention.
Their indifference was even backed by an altruistic justification—focusing on conditions that affected larger populations.
The more rejections David faced, the more hopeless he felt.
After pouring his struggles out, the man responded with a simple question:
"How much does a single researcher cost?"
His focus remained on the numbers.
"Roughly $150,000 per year…" David deliberately quoted a slightly higher figure, clinging to a faint hope that the man might actually fund it.
Then came an unexpected response.
"Then offer them double."
"…What?"
"If that doesn't work, offer them triple."
"What…?"
"They say it's not worth their time? That it's a waste? Turn it into a dollar amount. If they still refuse, it means the figure isn't high enough."
David blinked in stunned silence before bursting into laughter.
"Hahaha! I'm sorry, I've never heard anyone speak so boldly before…"
"I told you, I want to solve this problem with money."
"Haha, still…"
"Even triple might not be enough?" the man asked coolly.
Triple $150,000 was $450,000.
He was willing to offer that much.
In that moment, the faces of countless researchers flashed through David's mind.
Those who rejected him under the guise of "principle."
Would they still cling to their principles if offered three times the money?
'No way.'
They'd jump at the chance, likely with sheepish faces.
Just imagining that scene filled David with satisfaction. It felt like landing a punch squarely on the wall of reality that had been blocking his way for so long.
"Let's move on. How much is needed for the basic research?"
The man, still cold and calculating, continued tapping away at his mental calculator.
But now, David saw that attitude differently.
Solving the problem with money.
He finally understood the full weight of what that meant.
"How much is one trigger pull?"
This man was only concerned with the numbers. It didn't matter what obstacles lay ahead. He was planning to bulldoze through them all with money.
"Just a moment," David said, hastily folding his fingers as he began calculating.
"Including research staff, sample acquisition, and data analysts… the basic research would require at least $1 million. Since off-label prescriptions won't be covered by insurance, that adds to the cost. At $200,000 per patient per year, we'll need at least ten patients… So you're looking at a minimum of $4 million for a single trial."
As soon as he said it, David regretted it. The amount was simply too large.
'I should have just mentioned the basic research costs… I should've proposed a more manageable number.'
Once again, the man's reaction defied expectations.
"Then I'll arrange to send you $4 million within six months."
"What?"
David thought he must have misheard. He had to ask again.
"Are you saying… $4 million?"
"You're free to believe it after checking your account."
Unbelievable.
But the man had just said there was no need to believe him right now—David could confirm it once the funds were in his account.
And if that were the case, there was no reason not to trust him.
David was still at a loss for how to respond when the woman who had accompanied the man spoke up.
"Sean, if we don't leave now, we'll miss the train."
Two hours. That's all the time they'd had.
"How about we handle the rest through email and phone calls? For now, you could send me the relevant materials about the roulette process. Would that work?"
"That's fine."
In the end, David agreed to six months of collaboration.
After all, if he could verify the funds in his account, there was no reason to distrust him.
"It was a pleasure meeting you today," David said sincerely.
Even if he didn't end up receiving the money…
"You're the first person who hasn't laughed at my plans."
That alone made this encounter significant.
When David extended his hand, the man smiled and shook it firmly.
"The pleasure was mine."
The moment their hands met, David felt a peculiar sensation.
Though they had only known each other for a few hours, he felt closer to this man than anyone he had met before.
David belatedly realized the reason why.
This man…
He was someone who was also determined to find a cure, no matter the cost. Someone willing to abandon emotion and focus solely on action.
Of course, there was still a high likelihood he was a con artist.
But every instinct David had told him otherwise.
This man is like me.
That was why David hadn't pushed him away or cut the conversation short.
It was this uncanny feeling that had compelled him to keep talking.
"I look forward to working with you."